The Tagia Viii Incident
by Jew-boii-887
Summary: It is the 41st Millennium, and there is only war. in the year M41:786 the Hammer of the Emperor has come to Tagia Viii to cleanse it of the foul machinations of nurgle, and the fate of this world hangs in the balance a balance that is about to take a turn for the worst. Rated: M for blood, gore, and the occasional overuse of Chainweapons :P
1. Section One: Descent

Space twitched. At first I wasn't noticeable, and then a bigger twitch, like someone's face before a sneeze. suddenly lightning flashed. only this lightning was 10,000 kilometres long and tinged an electric blue. a massive warp tinged thunderstorm shook space, until finally space tore open and the vessels of the Imperial navy pulled themselves out. First came the bloated forms of Bulk Landers, "whales" as they are known by common Guardsmen. Followed by their escort of light destroyers, Cobra's and Firestorm's, blade pointed and waspishly fast. next ships to pull themselves out of the Empyrean's embrace were the sprint cruisers, two Lunar class cruisers, _Cardinal Marcellus_ and _The Ironback, _huge 5 kilometre juggernauts. The imposing form of the _Blade of the Emperor, _a colossal Emperor class battleship was last to pull herself from the Warp. Last to arrive and possibly the second most potent ship in the fleet was the Strike Cruiser _Ignis Gladius_ of the Crimson Sabres Space Marine Chapter. Ahead lay the world of Tagia Viii, a peaceful Imperial colony that had recently fallen under the sway of the XV Legion; the Death Guard and their foul Daemonic allies. Such action could not go unpunished, for as slow and unwieldy as the Hammer of the Emperor is, the wheels of the Imperial war machine are always grinding ever onwards. Fifteen regiments of the Imperial Guard, no less than two point five million of the Imperium's fighting men and women. Twelve whole wings of Navy strike aircraft and one company of the Emperor's own Space Marines were poised to spill down upon the world. And as the first Landers and transports burn through the upper atmosphere, night began to turn to morning across Tagia Viii's frosty, heavily wooded surface.

* * *

**Section 1: Descent.**

****The scene from orbit was one of pure, unrefined chaos. massive las blasts raced up from the planet trying to pluck the mighty ships of the Imperium from the firmament. the _Ironback _took position above one of the sub orbital guns and commenced the orbital bombardment. Vast stretches of forest burned under the anger of Imperial guns.

Finally the way was clear enough for the mass conveyance craft of the Imperial Guard to do their work. Vast whales opened their belly holds and birthed swarms of midnight black dropships and sent them racing for virgin atmosphere.

Leif grasped the straps of the acceleration chair with all his might, afraid if he didn't do so he would fall out of the thrashing Valkriye. He looked around him, he saw his squad mates, his brothers, shaking with the massive G-forces exerted upon them. From outside the gunships gunmetal grey hull the ear-raping howl of atmospheric insertion died away, replaced by the reassuring sound of thundering Imperial turbofans on full noise. A bone jarring jolt brought back the fear of death, as enemy Ack-Ack shook the sky.  
"Sergeant Jaekr! How shall I prepare for war?!" asked Guardsman Baldr, his acne scarred, youthful features wracked with fear. Sergeant Loki Jaekr raised his unshaven head, his piercing blue eyes locked with Baldr's own terror stricken orbs.  
"War, lad? Nothing can prepare 'ye for war itself, all I can tell you is make sure it is…" he pushed his finger into the young troopers chest. "Ye' make the other Barstard die first".  
Suddenly a huge explosion shook the aircraft.  
"Vampire One- Lead! This is Vampire Two- Two! Under heavy Anti Air fire! Requesting permission to break formation!"

A second huge detonation wracked the navy bird, causing strained oaths and prayers to erupt from the crew compartment, loose and unlashed gear tumbling about the cabin. Static crackled across the Vox and suddenly the panicked voice of Vampire Two- Three's pilot burst over the airwaves.

"Vampire One- Lead!, this is Two- Three! Two- Two is down! I repeat! Two- Two is down!"  
"Hang on Two- Three! Follow me in! Evasive action in 3,2,1… go!"

Sergeant Jaekr barely had time to mutter "well, that doesn't sound good…" when the Valkriye rolled wing over wing and dove beak first toward the ground. The hostile AA continued to blast away at the two remaining Imperial gunships, their corroded barrels disgorging an unholy amount of ballistic fury.

"Any Station! Any Station! This is Vampire One- Lead! We are under heavy ground fire! Troop deployment is impossible at this time! Do you copy? We need those guns down!"  
"Vampire One- Lead, this is Hammer of Wrath Lead, were rolling in hot from the north, hold on for a few more seconds!"

Just as the Vendetta's pilot broke radio contact, a scream echoed down the vox. Leif peered out the occuloport beside him and saw the nose and cockpit of Vampire Two- Two explode with tremendous force. The explosion suddenly grew as the wing tanks went up, its incandescent horror lighting up the night.

Suddenly over the sound of the guns and the screaming turbo fans Leif thought he heard something. The cargo bay door rolled to one side and the heavy bolter gunner stationed there let fly, the huge calibre munitions streaking down into the enemy AA emplacement. All of a sudden nine white/purple las-beams split the night, volley after volley hammering the AA, detonating ammo trucks and destroying the guns. And Leif saw, flying in close formation over the burning ruin of the emplacement, three Vendetta Gunships. Their midnight black hides concealing them in the darkness.  
"Vampire One- Lead, this is Hammer of Wrath Lead, guns destroyed, troop deployment is a go, Hammer, out."  
"Roger that Hammer, this is Vampire One- Lead, heading in for deployment."

And with that the Valk' turned north east, towards the rising sun.

* * *

"Vampire One- Lead, this is Oracle Six, landing sequence confirmed, you are to approach on track Alpha-Seven-Vermillion" rasped the voice of one of the Departamento Munitiorum officers in charge of the northern hemisphere landings. "Be aware Vampire, we have super heavies clogging most of the lanes down here, be prepared to wait"  
"Rodger that Oracle Six, Vampire One- Lead out" remarked Vampire's pilot, twisting his craft into an orbital track around the landing fields.

High above the orbiting gunship three massive charcoal black super heavy transports burned through the lower atmosphere, their adamantine hulls blackened by countless atmospheric insertions in countless crusades across several centuries of Imperial service.

Leif watched them through his occuloport, craning his neck to an almost impossible angle to get a good glimpse of the massive Landers, their skyborne bulk being the biggest terrestrial thing he had seen in his entire life, next to the hive cluster he had grown up in back on Vyskaal.

The first of the three huge transports, _Omnisiah's Guidance_ fired her huge landing stacks, white/blue plasma thrust cutting into her vaulting descent through the sky. She was closely followed by her sister ship _Mother Agitha_ and the third ship, the ageing and decrepit _In Purity Protected,_ her navy standard hull scorched blacker than most. Behind them a massive bulk freighter, _Adamantine Resolve_, straining in the low cloud with the huge prefab command bunker anchored to her swollen midsection. With a concussive roar of thrusters the '_Resolve_ slowed to a crawl and began her final approach. With a bone crunching impact the massive pre-packaged base touched Tagian dirt and within seconds swarms of Valkriye's in the colours of the Adeptus Mechanicus touched down all around it, Servitors and Priest's of the Machine god racing out to erect the formidable structure.

With a ear shattering boom, _Omnisiah's Guidance_ dropped past Vampire One- Lead, her massive tonnage and acceleration throwing out massive shock waves that shook the small gunship and the fourteen men insider her.  
Baldr didn't look to good, noticed Leif. His comrade was slowly turning a shade of green similar to the oak leaves back home. The young Guardsman reached for the sickbag tucked into the bulkhead above him, but it was too late, the poor man vomited the condensed remains of his meal over the steel grey floor. Many of the other members of the squad retracted their booted feet in disgust from the yellow/green bile slopping around the inside of their craft.

"Vampire One-Lead, you are cleared for landing, Oracle Six out"

With a throaty roar the belly jets of Vampire One- Lead fired, turning the snow covering the adhoc landing pad to boiling steam. With a dull metallic thud accompanied by the hiss of hydraulics, the maw like tail ramp of Vampire One- lead opened letting pure early morning sunlight into the dark cargo bay.

"Right men, grab 'ye gear, welcome to Tagia Viii" boomed Sergeant Jaekr grabbing his pack and Power axe from its storage point under his seat. Leif slung his Lasrifle over his shoulder and marched down the ramp, taking care not to step in Baldr's once meal. He took in his new surroundings. Tagia Viii didn't seem so different to Vyskaal, mused Leif; the sky was the same ash grey with the threat of snow; huge thickets of slender, spindly black trees. Leif glanced across the imperial camp. The monstrous tank Lander _In Purity Protected_, Wallowed in on its final approach, her huge belly jets straining in the dense lower atmosphere.

Her two sister ships were already on the ground, disembarkation ramps were down and already the tanks of the 253rd Nippon Heavy Armour were rolling out across the frozen tundra in perfect formation. The bulky hulls of their Leman Russ and Malcador pattern tanks; all a drab, shadowy grey apart from one, the command tank; a hulking Macharius Vanquisher, its hull a gleaming pearl white with a scarlet stylised rising sun stencilled across its entire flank. Leif knew little of the Nippon regiments they were fighting alongside, to the extent of his memory they came from a ocean world dotted by small islands, and their culture was a very martial one, most citizen holding honour as more important than anything. It was also known that they took defeat very seriously and higher ranking officers, Colonels, Majors and the like were known to take their own lives in the event of a dishonourable failure. He also knew of their fearsome war cry, which was played at deafening volume from hull mounted Vox hailers, and had been known to terrify entire rebellions into surrender; "**BANZAI!**"

* * *

"SQUAD! Form up!" yelled Sergeant Jaekr, breaking leif from his contemplative episode. Quickly Leif and the men of Third squad formed up behind their leader. Sergeant Jaekr lead them down onto the muddy earth of Tagia herself, the once pristine grasslands having been ripped up hundreds of fighting vehicles disgorged onto the planets surface.

Leif and his comrades began trekking across the huge landing fields to be with the rest of their regiment, the Vyskaal 212th, who had come down in separate Valkriye's and now all of the regimental elements were snaking their way to a meeting point. Huge rows of Heavy Infantry belonging to the 4178th Marcolan Grenadiers, their crimson carapace armour shining in the early morning sun, marched past; their orders having come in to move In on Polobski Minor, the closest settlement to the landing fields. Leif saw their Colonel, a one Johnah Severus Attica, a bulking forty seven year old with a flowing white moustache. The Colonel rode atop a huge crimson Hellhound, its armoured flanks displaying the emblem of the Marcola regiments, a huge black Dragon; its teeth bared and a plume of turquoise fire spewing from its mouth. He studied the Marcolan soldiers, their gear was mostly Krantel pattern, the same used by the famous Cadian shock troops, and so every single trooper could be mistaken for a Kasrkin, a Cadian Stormtrooper, and all came equipped as such, light grey Hell-guns with trailing blue power cords, were clutched in every hand and long curved war knives sheathed in every belt. Leif knew that the war knives were the regiment's trademark; curved and balanced enough to be thrown and supposedly, according to the Marcolans, the thrown knives always returned to the wielder.

With a scream of turbo fans on full auto a massive Marauder Destroyer shot above the guardsmen's heads, huge amounts of bombs strapped to hard points. Tilting its wing ever so slightly the massive thundering beast of an aircraft cleared the trees flanking the fields and shot off in the direction of Polobski Minor.

Up ahead Leif saw a familiar banner, the banner he had sworn to serve during his induction on Vyskaal. The huge black Vyskaali Sabre Lion fur pelt with the Imperial Eagle stitched across it swayed in the wind majestically. Leif stared at the huge piece of skin and fabric, the words "For the Emperor, For Vyskaal and the Legendaries" stitched in blood red cord across the huge super predator's skin.

* * *

The Legendaries it referred to were the Vyskaali heroes of old, noble warriors, heroic commanding officers and distinguished commissars who like Leif had left mother Vyskaal behind and joined regiments of the Imperial Guard, the Hammer of the Emperor. Although to become a Legendary one had to die first, and join in eternal battle at the Emperors side in the lofty plains of Yallhallous, the Vyskaali warrior's afterlife.

3rd squad came over a low hill and saw their entire regiment camped out before them, animal hide tents and primitive cooking fires totally at odds with the massive communications array that rose from next to the officers tent. Leif noticed a commotion over by the officer tent he saw Colonel Thobbé emerge and begin blowing into a small hand carved Imperial Mammoth tusk, the trumpeting noise echoing across the Vyskaali camp. Leif's blood raced in his veins, the signal to attack! The regiment was moving out. Leif and his kinsmen sprinted down the remainder of the hill quickly joining up with their platoon, "Lucky Ninth".


	2. Section Two: Forest Games

**Section 2: Forest Games.**

Two days had passed since deployment and Leif was beginning to realize that this world was nothing like Vyskaal at all; the sweet scent of the frozen tundra of Vyskaal wasn't there, it had been replaced by the sickening smell of decay and putrefaction, as the men of Ninth platoon advanced they continued to run into small shrines to the plague god where innocent civilians of Tagia Viii had been sacrificed. Their once human forms blighted with rot and plague to appease the god of contagions. Trooper Hylask burned them all with his brutally shaped flamer; it's crackling roar incinerating the foul shrines to Papa Nurgle.  
The platoon's lieutenant, a massive flame haired brute by the name of Odinsson Hrothgar, raised his hand signalling the advancing troop column to stop.

"What is it Sir, what do 'ye see?" inquired Sergeant Jaekr, his Laspistol up and searching for targets.

"I dunno lad, see these trees over there? They don't look naturally arranged" muttered Hrothgar, smoke curling out of the end of the cheap Guard cigarette between his cracked lips and nearly hidden by his plated, flame red beard.

Leif looked over at the broken trees the lieutenant was referring too. They were all snapped at differing angles and all showed signs of massive acid corrosion.

"What do you think did this kinsman?" asked Baldr, his head feverishly snapping around examining the leaves around them as if he expected something to jump out at them anytime.  
"I dunno" replied Leif "but I think you should calm down, you're freaking me out"

"Righto, calm, I can do that, calm" replied Baldr, his head still snapping feverishly at every shadow and sound.

"Right, Calm" snorted Leif.

"PLATOON! FOR UP INTO SQUADS! BALDR! CUT THE CHATTER! FAN OUT, FIFTY METRE SPREAD!" Barked lieutenant Hrothgar, his antique Chainsword out of its sheath, the swirling Celtic lines painted in dark blue along its Ceramite flank twisting like smoke.

Leif and his brothers stalked forward, all of them incredibly alert, Lasguns raised, primed and pointed in every direction. There was a sudden tearing noise followed by a thump to their west; Jaekr got them to stop and called it in over the vox. After waiting a few minutes and hearing nothing else 3rd squad continued on, if not more nervous than before.

* * *

After another age of agonisingly quiet marching 3rd squad passed into a forest clearing, Baldr was the first in and immediately tripped over, smacking his helmed head down into the snowy earth.

"Get up fool!" hissed Sergeant Jaekr, quite pissed off at the young trooper's horrible sense of balance.

Baldr pulled himself up, then looked down at what had tripped him over, and screamed.

It was a head, or what used to be a head. Next to it lay a discarded Marcolan helm, covered in acid marks and paint blisters. The face had also been eaten at by the acid leaving a near perfect acid cauterised cross section of skull, jaw and brain.

"Vrek!" exclaimed trooper Igor, almost dropping his Lasgun in surprise.

As if on cue a massive Voltonskiorsa tree collapsed town towards the squad, Leif jumped aside and rolled on impact, barely avoiding being crushed by the falling hulk of dead wood.

"whats that smell… OH BY THE GOD-EMPEROR AND ALL THE LEGENDARIES! WHAT IS THAT!?" screamed trooper Snorrison his Lasgun primed and pointed. Baldr turned, to late; a massive hulk of twisted heaving Daemon flesh collided with the young Vyskaali and crushed him like an over ripe tomato.  
"Plauge Beast!" yelled Sergeant Jaekr unsheathing his heirloom power axe and spitting furious light from his Laspistol.

Leif rose from the frigid earth his Lasgun powered up and pointed. A massive bloated toad-like beast sat before him examining him with its one milky, yellow eye. it opened its mouth as if to scream or unleash some terrible noise that was designed to terrorize the eleven men standing before it. Yet it made no noise. Realization dawned on Leif, it cant make any noise cause its vocal chords or equivalent, had rotted away. the hard snaps of angry Lasrifles tore Leif back to reality. the toad beast simply stared back at the Guardsmen, its single unblinking eye staring, to Leif it looked like it was staring into his soul.

Leif and the other members of 3rd squad bolted for the trees behind them, Lasguns raised above their heads firing blind at the Beast of Nurgle behind them. Leif slid in behind a particularly big Oak like tree and began firing. Purple/White lasbolts smashed into the Beasts side leaving small cauterized holes but no other significant damage.

"9-1 this is 9-3! we have made contact with enemy Maelific elements! request support!" roared Sergeant Jaekr into his officers vox. trooper Hylask was the next one to die; the massive Toad-Daemon leaped forward on its massive legs and crushed the flame trooper under its corrupt bulk. Leif futilely blazed away with his Lasgun, praying for a lucky hit. juts as he ducked back down behind the tree to change clips he thought he heard something.

* * *

With a smash and a commotion the massive bulk of one of the Nippon Heavy Armour's Leman Russes smashed out of the tree line on the opposite side of the clearing. it was a beastly Leman Russ Exterminator; its twin Autocannons sticking out of the turrets like lances of pre-firearm times. With a vox boosted scream of BANZAI! and the roar of its meaty HL230 V12 Multi-fuel engine the tank lurched forward its twin guns spitting a hail of fire. the Beast of Nurgle shuddered under the impact of hundreds of 50mm Autocannon rounds. it turned look at the tank just in time for one of the massive bullets to smash into its warp cursed eye.

Eventually the weapons horrific firepower took its toll on the beast. with a shudder and a thunderous blast of flatulence the toad exploded, the flammable gasses contained inside its bloated stomach igniting, spreading its tainted remains over the clearing and its corrosive blood making a sizzling pool of death were it once stood.

With a belch of midnight black smoke from its exhausts, the Leman Russ crossed the remainder of the clearing and drew up alongside were 3rd squad were taking cover. with a squeal of semi oiled metalwork, the top hatch of the Leman Russes turret popped open. a thin officer of the Nippon Regiments rose out of the smoky cabin. his short black hair was cut cleanly around his thin skull and his left eye was replaced with an ugly drab green augmentic, blazing with a fierce red light.

"I am Second lieutenant Isamu Kiyoshi, of his most beneficent Emperors, 253rd Nippon Heavy armour, in command of the mighty main battle tank 'Masaru'. who might you be Guardsman?" asked the tiny man. Leif had never seen a man with that colour skin before, sort of a tanned yellow. and had trouble understanding his accent. the man misplaced all of his L sounds with an R.

Sergeant Jaekr rose from cover and saluted.  
"SIR! Sergeant Loki Jaekr, 212th Vyskaali Assault Infantry Regiment, these men around me are third squad, brave kinsmen all and ready to serve the Emperor eternally in Yallhallous." Leif looked the officer down, his uniform was the standard of the Nippon Regiments, a cream greatcoat with an Aquila flying out of a stylised crimson rising sun stitched on the fabric shoulder cuffs. the remainder of the uniform was a drab brown and the officer had a belt with a small laspistol holstered and a sword sheathed at his side, a Kantana they called it, he thought.

The small man looked puzzled and shouted something back down into the tank in his obscure native language to Leif it sounded like jibberish, and certainly nothing like Imperial Low Gothic. the sound of quiet snickering rose out of the Adimantium beast, and the small Nippon officer returned to veiw.

"We are honoured to fight alongside you infantryman, but we humbly request direction, as we have become separated from our tank company, and only managed to come by you men by accident" he asked meekly, sergeant Jaekr burst into roaring laughter.  
"so you're telling me, sir, that you dumb bastards lost something the size of a armoured company? Vrek me! you boys must not get taught very well back on Nippon!" remarked the mirthful Sergeant.

With a scornful look of dark fury the Nippon officer slammed the hatch of the rumbling Leman Russ shut and drove off the clanking tracks echoing with the sergeants laughter.

"I don't think you made any friends from Off-world sir." remarked Leif

"Pfft, the moment one of them Nippon Tank boys want to get outside and fight a war Vyskaali style, is the day I'll show them some respect." remarked the Sergeant.


	3. Section Three: Strange Potence

Smashing aside a frond of a high growing scrub Sergeant Jaekr led 3rd squad out of the woods. They were approaching their objective Poloboski Minor Promethium works, the primary supplier of the precious fuel resource for most of the northern hemisphere. Leif looked on up at the huge edifice of steel and Ceramite and gulped, that was going to be one massive bastard of a tactical operation to take. Already some of the other platoons were charging from the leaf litter and into the enemy guns.

The 5th heavy weapons squad had already set up and was laying down fire with their trademark laslances. A halfway point between the hellguns of the Imperial Stormtroopers and a Lascannon of the Heavy Weapons Platoons. A laslance is a single pointed barrel that looks like a traditional cavalry lance attached to a tripod stand. When the trigger is depressed the lance emits a pulsing, glaring blast of purple/white light that rips into the target and sets clothes aflame and leaves massive cauterised dinner plate sized holes in the target.

* * *

With the rattle snap of displaced air the laslances discharged and knocked some of the drab green clad figures from the railings of the great refinery.

So, thought Leif, these are the traitor PDF we've heard so much about. Ragged orange lasfire snapped back towards the advancing Imperial Guardsmen in dribbles of deadly energy, knocking men Leif had known for years from their feet. "AT THEM! AT THEM MY BROTHERS! SHOW THEM THE FURY OF VYSKAAL!" yelled Demi-Jarl (or captain) Herjolf Bjolanson raising his heirloom power sword, so ancient it had earned a name Speki or Wisdom in low gothic, to rally the men of second company; of which 9th platoon was a part; to rush the enemy guns and bring the enemy to close quarters battle, the Vyskaali specialty.

Leif leapt up. Fixing his bayonet and screaming the names of his ancestors he charged the refinery walls. His squad sprinting alongside him, yelling out curses in Vulkaspeir the Vyskaali battle tongue. He fired short bursts from his lasrifle into the spider web of crossbars and crawl spaces that wrapped the refinery's outer skin. Trooper Guthox Bjornsson dropped; stone dead next to Leif. A solid round from an autogun had smashed through his blue war painted forehead and scrambled his brain, killing him instantly. Leif took all this in at a glance and kept running screaming out for foul angels of war to swoop down and destroy the heretics manning the walls.

Leif leaped the low concrete wall and was among the enemy. He slashed his blade left and right crushing and maiming desecrated flesh and lancing corrupt sinew. Sergeant Jaekr was right after him his reverent power axe smashing into traitorous necks, its smile cracking skulls with equal ease.

The rest of the company joined them at the walls fighting through the rest of the PDF deployed to defend its great Ceramite walls. "BREACHING TEAMS! TO THE FRONT!" yelled lieutenant Hrothgar, and Three men with melta guns rushed up to the great steel doors of the complex. The Melta guns fired with a hissing roar like the fury of gods. The doors buckled and bubbled and turned white hot to the touch and fell inwards. The great doors had been breached.

3rd squad breached the rusted steel door in front of them, coming into a cream reception room with a great mural of the huge refinery flanked by giant silver Aquila's. suddenly a Lasrifle snapped and discharged its orange glowing payload; traitors were also in the room. A bark of bolt pistol fire from Commissar Stanfordson cut down one of the traitors as the bright orange lasfire impaceded harmlessly into his carapace armour. The traitors comrade leapt the desk and charged through a back door into the facility, desperate to escape he enraged Imperials.

Leif rushed through the second door with his squad, Lasgun raised. He felt strange, as his squad moved through the murky, smoke laced corridors Leif fell to the side. As he was at the back of the line no one noticed. He dropped his Lasgun and dry retched towards the floor. He looked up and saw a weird blue/purple lightning crackling about his fists and a small layer of the same colour frost covered the walls.

What's happening to me? Thought Leif. He felt a strange buzzing in his head and his guts felt even stranger. Sergeant Jaekr turned around and saw Leif lying on the floor. "MEDIC! MEDIC!" yelled the Sergeant. Leif blacked out.

* * *

Leif dreamed, a strange dream a massive riot of colurs and shapes manifested itself behind his eyes he saw Sergeant Jaekr, looking away in disgust, and Commissar Stanfordson muttering some dark oath and raising his ebony engraved bolt pistol, Life Taker, and aimed it at Leif's head.

* * *

Leif awoke in an aid station out side the great refinery walls, set up by the Vyskaali command. His vision was hazy; everything resolved itself as a big grey blur. He looked to his left. There was a drip running into a needle set into the flesh of his forearm, and there was a grey blur reminiscent of a medic. His vision started to resolve it's self. Yes the grey blur was a medic, and a very striking one at that; Freya Jaekr, his Sergeant's sister.

Freya Jaekr was a very slender woman, topping in at a height of five foot and one inch, she was shorter than most of the female members of the regiment. Her hair was flame red as was common with most Vyskaali and her sky blue eyes reflected a permanent laughing aura even though she witnessed battlefield atrocities everyday as the regiment's chief medicae. Her uniform was an officer's Vyskaali great coat coloured white, with the blood red medicae logo stitched onto its sleave instead of the regimental crest of an ultramarine sabre cat followed by white fire. Her main weapon was a small Vyskaali pattern Laspistol. Its barrel was made of a gilded brass tube with an Aquila engraved as if it was embracing the brass tubing.

"Trooper Olafsson? Leif? Can you hear me?" She asked in her sing song Norse accent.

"uuurrgh… my head…" groaned Leif, a gigantic migraine resolving in the world behind his eyes like a dark brooding thunderstorm.

"Leif? Are you okay?" she asked her voice full of genuine concern, she cared for every member of he regiment like a brother, even though some of the regimental soldiers were blood relatives.

"Yes ma'am, although I've got the God Emperor's own Vreking migraine coming on" he replied tersely

"Okay, hold still please" asked the pretty medicae, and swung her medical Auspex over his prone body.

"righto, you seemed to have a seizure of some kind, probably brought on by the Prom' fumes and the enclosed spaces it was contained in, and I've detected a small psychic trace left on you, possibly still from warp travel we experienced during transit" noted the medicae, and turned off the Auspex with a push of a button.  
"Okay" remarked Leif "Am I cleared for active duty?"  
"well you would except you've been out for nearly five hours and we've retaken the refinery" replied Freya.  
"Righto then so… am I cleared to return to my squad? Asked Leif  
"sure, give Loki my thanks, he's the one who brought you out of that room by himself" stated Freya  
okay, thank you ma'am, the Emperor protects" and with that the slightly paler guardsman limped out of the drab grey tent.

* * *

That night, the colonel and his support staff gathered all the members of the regiment for a meeting to decide who would stay to garrison the refinery. Demi-Jarl Ragnar Holgthson of 8th company volunteered his company for the duty, and as such the only company that didn't volunteer; Demi-Jarl Ulfric Redbrow and his company, the 7th was the one to serve the men of 8th at their goodbye feast.


	4. Section Four: The First Night

The next morning several Gorgon Super Heavy transports from the Invasion motor pool arrived to carry the remaining 9 companies of the Vyskaali 212th to Poloboski Minor to assist the Marcolan 4178th in clearing the city. During the last few days the situation had taken a turn for the worse. The Nippon heavy armour, Necromundan 35th mechanised, the 303rd Vostroyan Artillery regiment "The Sky Shakers" and the 222nd Mordian Iron Guard had already been redirected to support the Marcolan offensive. After several days of fighting the 2nd wave had requested support. and so the Vyskaali 212th, The Ultramar 2nd Skybourne Infantry and the 82nd Armageddon Steel Legion were redirected in to support the second offensive wave.

* * *

The massive Gorgon heavy transports rumbled down the densely forested road towards Poloboski Minor. their huge track sections cracking the asphalt highway and smacking down close growing trees with their bulk. Each one was a monster of the Mechanicum's design. their huge forward assault rams were powered by hydraulics thicker than a strong mans leg; their huge Ceramite frames seamed to soak up incoming fire, while the blister mounted heavy stubbers sent pulsing blasts of .50 calibre rounds back at the enemy. Leif removed his webbing and his pack, as he slumped down against the cold steel bulkhead.

Leif was drawn out from his experience at the promethium works, and his subsequent time in the Medicae tent. As such was not in a good mood for the cramped, uncomfortable conditions of mass conveyance. Leif ducked, to dodge the swinging elbow of his Sergeant. Who was trying to make his way through the packed mass of cramped, sweaty bodies. He was trying to get to the gaggle of officers centred on the lieutenant. Probably going to discuss officer-y type stuff, thought Leif.

The particular Gorgon they were riding in was a Vahn XV pattern and was fully enclosed unlike its open topped brethren of other forge worlds. The rhythmic clanking of the tracks and the occasional crunch of steel resonated in the waiting guardsmen's heads. The crunches of steel were made as the massive transport rolled over cargo 18's that used to carry logs from the forests to the lumber mills. Now they lay abandoned in the aftermath of the invasion, and were merely speed bumps to the advancing Imperial Guardsmen.

* * *

With a screech of tortured brakes the massive Gorgons Halted, their maw like ramps opening as if to feed. The Guardsmen marched out, checking their surroundings. They had reached Rest Point Alpha, a place were the tired vehicle crews could get some rest and the monstrous tanks could be refuelled by fat bellied Valkriye Skytalons; their troop sections swapped for massive fuel bladders.

Leif gathered with 3rd squad around their cooking fire. Some of the men had placed their depleted las magazines in the fire, an unofficial and unsanctioned way to quickly recharge them. Leif heard music echoing from the inside of one of the Gorgons. It was the typical Vyskaali style; loud, brutal and aggressive. The members of the band all were wrapped in traditional Vyskaali furs and Kilts, some of them boasting electric Strigurs , or Strings in regimental slang. One had a heavy Bass String and another sat behind a Drum kit.

The lead singer raised his gravelly voice to the vox booster singing one of the Vyskaali regimental favourites'; Proud men of Vyskaal, To War. Leif felt him self slowly slipping into the aggressive words of the war chant, slapping his hand on his Lasrifles stock in time to the bass drum which pounded more like a marching beat than music. Slowly the song came to an end and was replaced by another regimental favourite, The Battle of Tyberious Sun. and Leif felt himself screaming along with the regiment "Fight! Fight! You have to stand in line! Kill! Kill!, C'mon and have you're fill!"

The Gorgon crews looked on in disgust. They were all men of Armageddon born and bred; and listened to a more refined version of music than the crude, aggressive Vyskaali Battle Metal.

* * *

Meanwhile the fuel transports continued to land and bowsers were attached to the refuelling hubs of the beastly transports. Off in the afternoon haze brought up by the landing jets of fuel craft, several vermillion coloured tanks crashed through the under brush.

"See that lad?" muttered Sergeant Jaekr, his voice low.  
"yeah Sarge, what are they?" muttered Leif not knowing what he was seeing.

"Them lad, their Astartes tanks, Land Raider Redeemers by the look of them, basically Hellhounds on performance stimms" cursed the sergeant, his distrust of the space marines obvious, for how could one be so powerful and not be blighted by pride?

In the sergeant's not so humble opinion if mankind were to win back the stars in the Emperors name they needed heroes and the sweat of their brows, not supermen and gods.

Leif looked on curiously at the squat bulky tanks crushing their way towards the hotly contested city, unsure whether to agree with his sergeant or simply revere the Sons of the Emperor as many others did. After all they were holy warriors of the Imperium were they not? The Emperor's own blood coursed through their veins, so how could they be abominations as his sergeant said?

* * *

Suddenly the cry went up, Plague Zombie's spotted 5 leagues west, and they would be on them by next nightfall. Slit trenches were dug. Boxes of razor wire were unfurled. 9th platoon was being left behind to deal with the horde of plague slain. None would find them wanting.


	5. Section Five: The Second Night,They Came

On the second night they came again, their unholy procession announced by the dolorous tolling of bells and the bass percussion of war drums. Leif choked as their now familiar stench invaded his senses, Barstard sons of Nurgle wandering between the trees; the very air ahead of them was fouled by their existence. Blackened by flies and airborne filth that obscured their plague and pox bloated forms.

As if by some miracle the constant snowstorms that had been blanketing the beleaguered Imperial Guardsmen for the last few hours lifted. With its departure the entirety of the Nurglite host was revealed. All along the Imperial line muttered curses and prayers to the Beneficent Emperor were spoken, rifles were unslung from shoulders and safeties were set to off.

The horde grew closer and at one hundred meters the emplaced defence guns opened up, autocannon and heavy bolter seething their ballistic vengeance at the advancing Chaos scum.

Shortly after the platoons entrenched mortars began bracketing the advancing mob with HE and Promethium rounds, but to no significant effect apart from annihilating frostbitten trees and hordes of icy zombies in showers of splinters, pus and gore. Weight of numbers pushed them on, even as their bloated and sickening comrades' fell all around them, they pushed on; their slow methodical advance bringing them ever closer to the warm uniform wrapped meals ahead. It was as if a massive oceanic tidal wave of undying flesh sought to swallow the tiny isle of the Vyskaali 212th's 9th Platoon's resistance.

"AT THEM SONS OF VYSKAAL! NOT ONE STEP BACK! FOR THE BLOOD OF MAYTRS IS THE SEED OF THE IMPERIUM!" roared Commissar Stanfordson, raising his ebony engraved bolt pistol up over the ramshackle barricades and unleashing its mass reactive fury unto the hordes of Nurgle ahead. Not twenty milliseconds after, "Lucky Ninth" platoon opened fire.

A wall of purple-white Las-fire collided with the onrushing Zombies, eviscerating many of the front rankers with crippling headshots. Leif emptied his Las-gun's mag in a strobing storm of purple pyrotechnics, its 19th megathule payload creating bloody cauterised craters on an advancing ghoul's chest.

"VOLLEY VIA RANKS! FRONT RANK, FIRE!" screamed Sergeant Jaekr, his Laspistol spitting incandescent fury. "SECOND RANK! FIRE! RELOAD! FRONT RANK! FIRE!" the ten men of 3rd squad ripped into the undead horde in time to their officers bellowed commands, waves of devastating lasfire rolling into the plague slain, as well as similar efforts from the rest of the men of 9th platoon.

Ten metres away now and 9th platoon's flamers opened up, their crackling roar lighting up the night with billowing tongues of incandescent flame. Several plague slain turned into blackened husks and collapsed immediately, others stumbled on oblivious to their rotten meat cooking off their corrupt bones.

"FIX BAYONETS! PREPARE FOR CLOSE QUARTERS COMBAT!" yelled Sergeant Jaekr unsheathing his family's heirloom power axe, sparks of ice blue energy radiating from its broad cutting edge. Leif's squad fell into their close combat formation; two ranks of five men with the front rank kneeling, rifles extended and held out like pikes. The second rank stood behind them. Their rifles extended over kneeling heads. The entire platoon formed up like this behind their barricades of earth, ammo boxes and razor wire, a fifty meter line of bayonets with some guts behind them. As one the horde howled, its unnatural keening splitting the air and charged the Imperial line.

The first ghoul reached for Leif and he slammed his bayonet into the beasts eye socket, its gunmetal point going in and out the maggot ridden other side. Sergeant Jaekr stood behind him swinging his crackling axe in decapitating arcs, lopping off heads left and right. Troopers Boris and Igor thrust their blades back and forth, eviscerating many, and a pile of fallen ghouls quickly formed at their feet. Commissar Stanfordson atomised several plague ridden skulls with some deft right hooks from his power fist, sending sprays of black arterial blood into the air as his energised glove did its brutal work. Leif raised his rifle to block, and was knocked to the ground, the body of a Ex-Ecclesiarchy priest leaning over him, his milky white eyed face drawn into a sickening corpse grin. Leif dropped his rifle and wrapped his gloved hands around the ghoul's throat, anything to keep that snapping jaw away from him. The zombie screamed, its rancid breath washing over Leif causing him to gag. A terrible roar split the air, but it was no sound made by anything organic. The dead preachers face seemed to twitch, and convulse, when suddenly the front end of a chainsabre burst through the Zombie's skull. Icy cold blood splattered Leif's face and he stared in shock as the still spinning blades of the chainsabre danced mere centimetres from his face covered in the unfortunate preacher's brain fragments. With a grotesque sucking noise the chainsabre slid back through the now very dead preacher's skull, Leif looked up and saw Lieutenant Hrothgar standing over him, his characteristic grim smile etched upon his chiselled features. "C'mon boy, get up, we still got a brawl to win here" stated the young officer, before turning and disembowelling a screaming corpse beast, its rancid, rotting intestines playing out like shredded cord . Leif jumped up and grabbed his rifle and swung at the nearest ghoul, his rifle's blade smashing into an undead neck. Its owner, a late Imperial scholar, wasn't two pleased with this and turned to face Leif, an undying howl of hatred echoing from its maggot ridden throat. "Oh for the love of Terra! Just Vrekking DIE!" yelled Leif and pulled his Lasguns trigger. An hour of brutal melee passed then another until finally Ninth platoon stood waist deep in enemy corpses, their brutal butchers work done.

With the current threat disposed of the men of 9th platoon sunk to their knees, exhaustion and fatigue taking their toll. Officers moved through the ranks looking for tell tale signs of the infection; bite marks. Even after the battle the undead continued to claim Imperial lives as stern-faced political officers "quarantined" several infected individuals.

At dawn the Vyskaal 212th, 9th platoon abandoned their dead. The shallow trench, boxes and piles of slain undead that had formed last nights battlefield were incinerated from above by Marauders loaded for bear with Inferno bombs, even in the throes of the bombing of the the hotly contested city of Polobski Minor, the Navy still had planes to spare for "Casualty disposal".

"PLATOON! FORM UP!" roared lieutenant Hrothgar, his platted flame red beard blowing like streamers in the icy wind, His massive frame covered by his equally massive fur trimmed Vyskaal pattern officers greatcoat. As one the remaining fifty eight men of 9th platoon began their long march to the next hold point, their next bastion against the Undead.


End file.
